


Healing Bones

by Littlebird21



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Eventual HEA, Eventual Smut, F/M, PTSD, Post War AU, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlebird21/pseuds/Littlebird21
Summary: Draco had almost been right when he’d told Dumbledore that Voldemort would kill him if he didn’t complete his task. No, Draco wasn’t dead, but the Dark Lord has cruccio’d him within an inch of insanity enough times that sometimes he wished he had been.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 17
Kudos: 27





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter.

Draco had almost been right when he’d told Dumbledore that Voldemort would kill him if he didn’t complete his task. No, Draco wasn’t dead, but the Dark Lord has cruccio’d him within an inch of insanity enough times that sometimes he wished he had been. For months during and after the war, he had forced himself to stay awake, lest he be greeted with the gaunt, lifeless faces of Voldemort’s victims, some sprawled against his dining room table, others against the floor of his drawing room; all dead.

Now, he couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to. The dark circles under his eyes such a permanent fixture, he didn’t even bother to glamour them anymore. Draco didn’t do much of anything in those months, so much so that Narcissa had begun to worry. Pulled out of mourning the loss of her husband, she saw the shell of a boy her only child had become.

“I refuse to lose you, as well,” she had whispered harshly to him through her tears one morning as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, tracing nonexistent patterns in the wood.

And so, he found himself assigned to a mind healer at St. Mungo’s. A stern woman she was, short and stout with thin grey hair pulled back from her face and kind, blue eyes. Draco didn’t want to talk to her. And even if he did, he wasn’t sure he could; didn’t remember the sound of his own voice. He hadn’t opened his mouth to speak to anyone in four months. So his sessions were filled with Healer Melcott clinically listing the symptoms of depression and PTSD as if they hadn’t been his reality every second of every day for as long as he dared to remember.

“We have group counseling sessions at 4pm every Tuesday, my dear. I think it would do you some good.”

_It wouldn’t work_ , he thought. But instead he just nodded and let her continue.

“You see, sometimes sharing our trauma with others who have gone through the same thing can show us not only that we aren’t alone, but also that there is hope to get through what often feels like the end of the world.”

Except, Draco had seen the end of the world. The end of his world and beliefs and held dear to him. What was once a pleasurable life was now filled with shame and contempt and scorn from magical folk he’d thought himself better than for 17 years. Now, he was a ghost, a shell. Now, he was nothing.

But, Healer Melcott was hopeful, and his mother was scared for him and he had nothing better to do, so at 3:55pm the next Tuesday he found himself seated in one of the seven uncomfortable metal chairs arranged in a circle boxed in by the usual white walls of his counseling room. With five minutes left to go before the session was set to start, three of the chairs were still empty. One of the other four was taken up by the youngest Weasley, the only girl. Draco hadn’t seen her since the Final Battle and did everything he could to not meet her eyes, though he felt her stare burning holes into his forehead. He imagined she hated him still and was unsettled to find him sitting in on something she might have come to find a safe space.

He was debating leaving - the circle, the room, St Mungo’s, the world - when she walked in. A mass of curly hair atop her head, she found the last empty space next to her ginger haired friend, directly across from him. Any thoughts of moving were now dashed as all the air left his lungs.

Off all the witches in the world, he swore, of all the people to run into here.

“Right! Now everyone,” Healer Melcott cleared her throat in a manner eerily reminiscent of one Delores Umbridge, “I’d like to thank you all for joining me another Tuesday as we work towards healing our minds and cleansing our souls of our past and moving forward in hopes of creating a brighter future…” It was all much of the same really as far as Draco was concerned until it was time for the patients to participate.

They’d started from the Weasley girl - “ _Ginevra, but please, call me Ginny_ ” - who spoke about the loss of her brothers (one had been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts and the other had taken his life two months later when he found he couldn’t bare to look at his reflection any longer…) and how nothing felt the same. She looked pointedly at Malfoy who didn’t dare meet her eyes.

The exercise continued much in the same way, each person detailing something that they’d had trouble dealing with: panic attacks, insomnia, self harm - until it was his turn.

“Draco, dear? Go on.”

His voice scratchy from misuse was almost inaudible as he spoke. “I don’t sleep.”

The circle was quiet as all seven eyes, plus Melcott’s burned into the top of his head. A deep breath and the clearing of his throat, “I haven’t slept.” When he offered nothing else, the man no older than 40 that sat beside him, with smooth dark skin and a bald head cut through the silence.

“Right well, I visited me ma in Wales last weekend, she’s looking a bit better, but…”

And it went on until it was Hermione’s turn to speak. Like him, she didn’t say much. “This week was much like all the others,” and that was it. And then the session was ended and people gathered at the back of the room for refreshments and he was half way through the door when a small hand stopped him by the crook of his elbow.

“Draco.” Her voice was soft and sweet and sent a stab through his chest at just how unworthy he was of hearing it.

Without turning he responded, “Granger.”

“Ginny and I were going to The Three Broomsticks for a late lunch, early supper,” she hesitated for a beat before continuing, “would you um- would you like to join us?” He looked past her to the other witch in question, a strained look on her face as she stood with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I don’t think that would be the best idea.” He moved to walk away, but the hand on his elbow tightened ever so slightly.

“Please?”

A strangled breath, the clearing of his throat and scratching of his beard. Another breath, “I could eat.”

Neither of them smiled, but they both nodded solemnly and moved towards the door, Ginny following closely, three steps behind. He would take this impromptu lunch date to formally apologize to them both for his crimes. He wanted to apologize for being a complete arse throughout their childhood, for being born on the wrong side of the war and doing nothing,even as he realised that he was wrong, that his beliefs had no basis. It wouldn’t be enough, he knew, it would never be enough to curb the heartache and pain that they carried with them.

_But maybe_ , he selfishly thought, _maybe it will do something to curb mine._

…

The Three Broomsticks was empty for a Tuesday evening. At half 5, there were usually a few ministry workers lingering about, trying to get a drink before heading home. As it were, apart from Hermione, Draco and Ginny, there was only one other wizard there. He sat in the corner, nursing a tumbler of firewhiskey while a copy of the Daily Prophet hid his torso from view.

The trio was painfully silent. No one knew what to say in the present company it was apparent that none of them were the least bit comfortable with the arrangement. They fidgeted as their eyes wandered everywhere and anywhere but at each other. After a server had taken their order, Hermione cleared her throat and fiddled with their napkins.

Before she could start, Draco beat her to it. “I’d like to apologize to you Granger, Weasley,” he nodded to each in turn, “I know that it’s overdue and inadequate but I am sorry _for everything_. I wish I could take it back. But as it stands, I can’t. I don’t expect forgiveness, but I would like you to know that.” Unable to meet their eyes, he pulled ten galleons from his pouch and placed them on the table. “This should be able to cover the meal, plus a tip, please enjoy your dinner.” Before he could leave however Ginny’s voice cut through him like a knife.

“So that’s it then? You think some empty words and few galleons is going to undo the damage you’ve done-“

“Ginny!”

“No Hermione. He hasn’t changed has he? Still a Malfoy through and through. A pretty apology and some money won’t bring the dead back to life. It won’t fix Hogwarts or give Teddy back his parents. It won’t put me or you or Harry or Ron to sleep at night when the nightmares keep us awake.” Her words were venom as she spat, face contorted with thinly veiled rage. “We brought you here to ask you not to come back to the sessions. You make everyone uncomfortable if you haven’t noticed, Death Eater.”

“Ginny, stop.” The two witches shared a meaningful look, but it was all Draco could do to not vomit bile on the pair of them as he sat there. He knew they’d be angry, understandably so, but he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t planned on returning to the sessions anyway, but now, with his heart in his stomach and his chest painfully aching and empty, he knew he would never step foot in St. Mungo’s again. Not for love or galleons.

“If it’s all the same to you both, the war wasn’t sunshine or daisies for me either. Having a murderous madman make your living room his lair tends to do things to you. Especially when his idea of fun was practicing unforgivables on you for breathing too loud.” He cricked his knuckles one at a time, eyes shifting before he could continue, “I apologize if my presence made you uncomfortable today, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that in the future. Again, enjoy your dinner.”

With that, Draco got up and walked away.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) did not beg or grovel. It was unbecoming. But as she stood outside Draco’s locked bedroom door - which no amount of alohomoras could open, it was warded so heavily- she did what she had been doing for months- she wailed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don’t own Harry Potter. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter makes mention of some dark themes including self harm.
> 
> If you suffer from mental health issues and are prone to suicidal thoughts or self harm, please contact the suicide hotline at 1-800-273-8255 or speak to someone you trust. And remember, I love you always.

Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) did not beg or grovel. It was unbecoming. But as she stood outside Draco’s locked bedroom door - which no amount of _alohomoras_ could open, it was warded so heavily- she did what she had been doing for months- she wailed. 

She cried out for her son as she beat against the door asking him to come out or to let her in, whichever way she could ensure that he was safe. 

His condition had worsened over the past month, as he only left his room to take breakfast and dinner with his mother. Two weeks passed and suddenly, he would only appear for dinner and then all of the sudden, she hadn’t seen him for two straight days. It was now the third day and she was fed up. She was fed up and worried sick at his lack of response and at a loss as to what to do to get through to him. 

Her baby boy… her miracle. She had already lost one love, one sister was dead and the other estranged. Draco was all she had left in the world and she’d be damned if he was taken from her too.

…

“Miss Granger.” 

“Lady Malfoy. Please, come in.” If Hermione was shocked to see Narcissa Malfoy on the front steps of the flat she shared with Ginny in muggle London, she didn’t show it. Instead, she brewed two cups of tea and sat her down in the worn brown armchair in her living room. “Is there anything that I can assist you with?”

Narcissa’s voice was clipped as she said, “Straight to the point I see.” She took a tentative sip of her two sugars, no milk tea seemingly collecting her thoughts.

“I thought it’d be better that way, no beating around the bush.”

“Mmm.” Another sip, “Draco is in danger,” a pause, “and I think you can help.”

“Danger, Lady Malfoy?”

“Let me be clear. Draco is a danger to himself and I’m worried that, sooner rather than later, he’ll do something that he regrets.”

“Pardon me Lady Malfoy, but Draco and I’s relationship -or lack thereof- is strained at best. Perhaps Pansy Parkinson or Blaise Zabini or one of his other friends would be better equipped to-“

“No.”

Hermione choked. “No?”

“No. He was doing well, not much better, but he was getting on until the day he went to that group counseling session.” Another sip. “And I think you might have had something to do with that.”

She couldn’t help fidgeting as she looked anywhere but as Narcissa. “Why would you think that?”

“Aside from the fact that you can’t look me in the face, when Draco came home he gravitated to the drawing room-“ Hermione flinched “-before he retired with a bottle of firewhisky.” 

“That doesn’t mean that I-“

“I don’t know what you said to him,” she continued as if Hermione didn’t speak, “but I’m imploring you to fix it.”

Now, Hermione seethed. How dare this woman who, up to a year ago, openly hated her very existence, demand anything from her? She shot up to her feet from where she was seated on the couch across from her ‘guest’. Her anger was steadily growing as the woman’s blue eyes met her brown ones. It made her all the more upset to see just how composed Narcissa was. She paced.

“How dare you-“

“Please.” Her dave was blank, nonchalant and haughty all at the same time, but her voice- her voice gave her away. 

“No.” She crossed her arms. ”Whatever Draco is going through is not unique to him. We’re all suffering, some more than others. Now, your son is an adult _Narcissa,_ whatever _issues_ he has he can work them out himself without the help of a _mudblood.”_

“Miss Granger-“

“I’m sure you can see yourself out.”

“I fear he’ll take his life.” 

She disliked them- _despised_ them. But Hermione could never truly ignore someone that needed her help. 

And Draco Malfoy needed her help. 

…

Contrary to Narcissa’s warnings, Draco’s bedroom door was wide open when she’d apparated into the manor. The bed was made, and it looked like it hadn’t been slept in in days. The room was still as if devoid of life and Hermione’s heart dropped. 

“Draco?” she called. “Draco are you in here?” 

If she expected an answer, none came. Stepping further into the large bedchamber, an open closet door cams into view. Inside were dress robes in hues of green and shades of black and grey with a few muggle suits scatters in between- but no Draco. A strangled choke carried her in the direction of what appeared to be a large bathroom. Tiled in black, a white vanity stood to one side with a great mirror covering half the wall. Towards the back was an open shower and scattered about were small succulents that gave the otherwise dark room a twinge of life. 

In the center stood a white claw foot tub with silver accents. Laid inside the tub was Draco Malfoy knife in his right hand as he carved away at this left forearm, blood spattering across the tiles, staining the white button down shirt that he wore. His white blond hair was wild and looked as if it hadn’t been combed for days, his eyes were wild and unfocused as he continued to dig into his flesh. 

“Draco!” she cried. But she didn’t move. She felt as if she was frozen to the floor. She could not reconcile this broken, frazzled man to the boy that she knew growing up. Arrogant and prattish as he was, he’d had a love for life and a will to live that was lost on the shell of a man that sat before her. “Draco stop! Stop, what are you doing?” And then she was moving and trying to grab the knife out his hand, but as weak as he looked his grip was still strong. 

“Go away.” His voice was scratchy and low, barely a whisper. “Go away and let me do this.” 

“No. No, this is not the answer, you have to stop. You can’t do this, you have to stop.” She moved again to take the knife from his steel grip but he only held on tighter as he continued to scare away at his flesh. Her heart was beating and she was scared. She’d never seen anyone like this. Even on their worst days, her and her friends had never tried to purposely mutilate themselves, seeking out each other when the worst of the war tried to claim them. 

“GO AWAY!”

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” His body went rigid in her arms and she was finally able to remove the offending weapon from his hands and with a shuddering, sinking feeling in her gut, she realised painfully that it was not a knife, but a dagger. An enchanted dagger. 

A dagger that one year ago, had carved the word _mudblood_ into her arm. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally the outline for this story was 2/3 chapters, but as I continue to write it’s looking more like 5 with the inclusion of an Epilogue.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Death, Draco, doesn’t always bring peace,” she paused to lick her lips, before she continued, “not if you don’t know peace while you live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a tiny but shorter than the other chapters, but this story was never meant to be a long one. It, however, attempts to be a meaningful one.

Draco fought to open his eyelids that were weighed down by potion induced sleep and was greeted by the familiar face of his mother as she dosed by his bedside. His left forearm was bandaged in white gauze and stung as he lifted it to push his hair back from his sweaty face. 

“Try not to move too much, you’re still weak from the blood loss.” His grey eyes moved to catch Hermione’s face as she watched him. Her small frame was leaned against the wall opposite his bed. He wanted to retort, ask her why she was here, tell her to mind her own business. Weren’t she and the Weasel the ones who’d essentially told him to get lost? But his mouth was dry and his head hurt, so he tentatively swallowed his words and said nothing. “She loves you a great deal,” she continued, “your mother. But, I didn’t need to tell you that.”

More silence.

Pushing herself from off the wall, she stalked towards his bed. Placing an impossibly small hand on his forehead, she checked his temperature. “You still have a slight fever, there’s some water at your bedside. You’d do well to keep hydrated. Narcissa will owl me if your condition worsens, but I suspect you’ll be fine.” Draco grabbed onto her cotton sleeve before she could pull away, reminding him of their reversed positions the month before when it was her asking him to stay.  _ Before she’d metaphorically spat in my face of course.  _

“Why are you here? You hate me.”

Without looking up, she responded, “I don’t hate you. Not enough to see you dead, anyway.” Her face scrunched up in a way that should have made her unattractive, but that Draco found increasingly endearing. “I hate that you were made into a soldier for the Dark Lord, but I’ve come to understand that it wasn’t with a willing heart.” Her eyes shifted to Narcissa’s sleeping form before travelling to rest on his pale face. “The others will as well, in time.” Tentatively, she took his hand in hers and squeezed. “Death, Draco, doesn’t always bring peace,” she paused to lick her lips, before she continued, “not if you don’t know peace while you live.”

She made to leave again and this time Draco did not move to stop her. She was almost through the door when she stopped and pivoted to face him one last time. “We were out of line, Ginny and I. We were out of line and I’m sorry. We’ve all suffered in this war that we had no business being a part of and we all need help. I’m sorry.”

And then she was gone.

…

Hermione visited the manor twice more that week, always apparating in and out of Draco’s bedroom. Her attitude towards him hadn’t changed dramatically, but she was nothing short of doting as she changed his bandages and checked his temperature and spoke with the house elves to ensure he was eating. She never spent more than half an hour, but Draco wasn’t sure he could handle more than that. It was strange to see her like this, a smile on her face that was directed to him, no matter how forced. In some ways it unnerved him, in other ways it lighted a spark somewhere in his chest that previously had been occupied by a never ending ache.

They’d come to see each other in a new light since the  _ incident _ , a tentative and awkward friendship forming where before there was thinly veiled animosity. He’d wondered as to why she was the one to take care of him and expressed as much to her just before she left on that second night. 

_ Your mother insisted,  _ she’d said, _ apparently you made it very clear while drunk one night that you could never go back.  _ His ears were pink at the subtle lilt of amusement in her tone at something that was certainly  _ not _ amusing.

__ On her third visit exactly one week after she’d found him, she brought the Weasel with her. They both stood at the foot of his four poster bed. While Hermione looked sheepish, Ginny looked as if she wished she were anywhere else but there. Neither, however, looked as uncomfortable as Draco felt. 

“Ginny has something she wishes to say to you.” Using her elbow, she none too discreetly prodded the younger girl on her side. 

“I’m sorry, ferret, tha-”

“Ginny!”

“I’m sorry,  _ Malfoy _ , that we made you feel uncomfortable for attending counselling.”

“And?” Hermione pressed.

“And to make it up to you, we would like to have a redo of the dinner at The Three Broomsticks. As an apology.”

“After we attend the counseling session on Tuesday of course.” Hermione looked at him hopefully while Ginny just looked as if she was in pain. 

Thus, Draco found himself modestly dressed in midnight blue robes and sat uncomfortably on metal chairs surrounded by seven pairs of prying eyes as well as the understanding eyes of Healer Melcott. 

“Draco, dear, it’s been a while,” she cooed. “Won’t you tell us how you’ve been?” 

Looking up into the face of his friend (he was reluctant to admit that they were friends and wouldn’t dare call her that to her face), she nodded encouragingly towards him so he spoke. “I tried to kill myself.” Five prying eyes, now reflected shock, Ginny’s remained hard as she stared at him, but Hermione’s were unwaveringly encouraging. “But, I don't want that for myself anymore. I uh- I want to get better. I want to be better for those that I care about.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and then an epilogue:)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter! It gets a bit sad in the middle but there’s an ending I hope you’ll appreciate! (Once you’re 18 years or older, of course.)

Hermione was glad she had decided to buy this little black dress on her impromptu shopping trip with Ginny last month. It was definitely about to come in handy, because after four agonizing months of skirting around each other and awkwardly flirting, Draco had asked her out. 

“You’ll be sleeping at Harry’s tonight, right Gin?” she asked as she fiddled with the curls that framed her face. She had chosen to let them out after running an ungodly amount of  _ Sleakeazy _ through it not 5 minutes before. She was nervous as she fidgeted with her makeup. Which was really just a black cat eye with a little blush and a bold red lip over a light foundation. Not for the first time tonight, she thanked the gods for clear skin.

“For the hundredth time, we won’t be disturbing you or your Slytherin,” she could practically hear the eyeroll dripping from Ginny’s words as she sat perched upon the toilet watching her friend get ready. “He’s going to rip that dress right off you.”

“Ginny!” The only response was a peal of laughter. Before she could repremand her further, the doorbell to their flat rang, and Hermione’s stomach dropped. “Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can’t do this. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Hermione relax. You look fucking hot and he’s practically in love with you already. Knock ‘em dead, tiger.”

And she did. Draco couldn’t keep his hands off her the whole night, touching her back when he could and holding her hand anytime she gave him the chance. They’d drank a tasteful amount of alcohol with their dinner at the pub two blocks away from her flat, and danced dangerously close to each other at the club downtown. So, when they stumbled onto the couch of her living room, lips locked and hands roaming, Hermione knew exactly how she wanted the night to end. 

One of his hands was tangled in her hair and the other firmly gripped the globe of her ass. Her legs were wrapped around his waist as he pressed his rapidly growing erection into her centre, but he stopped her when she moved to remove his shirt. 

“Hold on, love. As much as I really want to do this, I think that maybe we should wait.” 

Confused, she unwound her legs and placed herself more firmly on the couch, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I want to court you properly, take you out on dates to the muggle theatre and meet your parents. Love, what’s wrong?” 

She’d turned away from him at the mention of her parents. They’d been skirting around that particular topic for a few weeks and she’d been glad when it hadn’t come up during their date tonight. “Draco, there’s something you should know… about my parents.” Unconsciously she’d hugged her arms to herself and moved further away from him, but his worried eyes never left her face. 

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too much.”

“No, you deserve to know. You’ve shared so much with me that the least I can do is share this with you.” When he didn’t respond, she took a shuddering breath and went on: “Before the war started, I mean  _ really  _ started. It was unsafe for muggleborns and their families. I knew that my parents needed me to protect them but Harry needed me more. The only way to keep them safe was to,” she choked on a sob, “I obliviated them.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I obliviated them and I sent them to Australia. And when the war was over, I went to look for them. I went to look for them but they were dead, Draco. They died in a car crash two months before I went to find them. They died and it’s all my fault.” What little composure she had left melted away as she broke down in sobs. Draco’s muscled arms pulled her close to him as he whispered reasurances in her ear.

“It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault,” he recited until her wails quieted to whimpers. “If you hadn’t done what you did, they would have met a worse fate at the hands of Voldemort. You did what you had to do, but you can’t save everyone.” When she didn’t move to respond, he kissed her temple. “You can’t save everyone, but you did save me. And I  _ will _ repay you, even if it takes forever.”

“We saved each other, Draco. We saved each other.”

And then his lips were on hers, and they were back where they started. The kiss was passionate and wild as they grabbed at each other, spurred on by the reminder that life was short and fickle and you didn’t know when death would come knocking at your door and  _ oh, she was going to fuck Draco Malfoy today.  _

His pressed long, open mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, nipping and sucking and licking at the skin as he went. His hand came between them to knead her breast, pinching and flipping her nipple until it became a stiff peak. His mouth found the other breast as he bit softly on the flesh, then smoothed it over with his tongue. 

Their breaths were shallow as she moved to cup him through his slacks. His hips bucked at the touch and without thinking she apparated them into her bedroom, falling on top of him as they landed on the bed with a soft thud. It was her turn to kiss his neck as she unbuttoned his oxford and made her way down to her final destination, licking and sucking as she went. She dipped her tongue into his navel and his hand flew to tangle in her curls. Slowly she undid the fly of his zip and was greeted by his throbbing cock. 

“No underwear? How presumptious of you.” Before he could think to answer, she took the head into her mouth licking at the slit. A delicious moan escaped his swollen pink lips and Hermione could feel her excitement pool between her legs. Slowly, she took him into her mouth and started to bob her head, up and down, moving her tongue over the shaft of him. Gently, she used one hand to massage his balls while the other twisted around the parts of him that couldn't fit into her mouth. His hand tightened in her hair as he guided her slowly up and down and it took all the restraint within him not to fuck her face. 

All too soon he was pulling her up and kissing her again, “If you don’t stop that right now, I’ll come before I’m ready.” And then they were flipped and he was on top of her, one hand pushing up the hem of her dress, reaching into her panties and parting her folds that were slick with her need. “Mmm, you’re so wet, love. Is this all for me?” Unable to speak she nodded and he took her closest nipple into his mouth at the same time as he plunged one finger into her cunt.

She couldn’t stop the guttural moan from escaping her as he added another finger, pumping two into her in time with ministrations on her breast. “More, please, Draco. More.” 

“What do you want me to do, love? Say it.”

She moaned. “Fuck me, Draco. Please.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Vanishing the rest of their clothes so they were completely bare in front of one another, he rubbed the head of his cock against her slit and up to her clit one, two, three times before plunging into her with one smooth thrust. Finally, connected, they both moaned as he rested his forehead on hers, breaths mingling until she couldn't tell where his started and hers stopped. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” One thrust. “To fuck you,” another thrust, “to make love,” and another, “to watch you come undone on my cock.” 

“Please, Draco, faster. Please.”

“Your wish is my command, Princess.” And so he heeded, picking up the pace as he relentlessly slammed into her over and over. When her moans became more strangled he brought one hand up to circle her clit and the other up to pinch her nipple and soon her orgasm washed over as she keened. With a few more thrusts, Draco followed, emptying himself inside of her. 

She pulled him down to kiss her as his bare chest pressed against hers and their limbs tangled together. 

“I love you,” she whispered into his lips.

“I love you, he replied, pulling her impossibly closer. 

The moment was only ruined by Ginny’s shrill scream from the doorway of what Hermione had  _ thought  _ was her bedroom. “Oh what the fuck! 

_ Not on my bed!”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literally never written smut before, like ever. I hope it doesn’t feel too weird or unrealistic. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> All that’s left is the epilogue which should be up later today or tomorrow.


End file.
